Magnificent Technique
by TheLittlestRaindrop
Summary: Lavellen is ignoring Blackwall for some reason. He's determined to find out why. *Contains spoilers for Blackwall's backstory*


'Venatori agents!' Inquisitor Lavellan shouts, raising her staff aloft. Her warning wasn't entirely necessary; Blackwall had seen them a mile off. Still, he's not going to complain. Any excuse to hear that beautiful voice of hers…

About a week ago, she had requested that he accompany her, Varric, and Bull on a trip to The Hissing Wastes. Apparently, the Venatori have been digging up old dwarves ruins in the area, and the Inquisitor wants to know why. The Hissing Wastes isn't exactly Blackwall's favourite place in Thedas, but who is he to deny his lady? Especially after recent events…

After finding out that his former second-in-command had been scheduled for execution, Blackwall had had no choice but to come clean, and reveal that he is not the Grey Warden Blackwall, but the wanted criminal Thom Rainier. He'd spent one final night with his lady, before heading off into the night. He had expected to go to his death, and for the Inquisitor to never discover the truth.

However, Lady Lavellan has never been one to do as expected. She had found him, and watched him confess on the gallows. He'd been taken away in chains, the crowd all calling for him to be killed there and then. He would have taken death as well, if it meant he didn't have to see the pain in his lady's eyes.

She visited him in his cell. She'd told him that there was truth in what they'd had, even if he was living a lie. He'd wanted to get on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, but he didn't. A man like him deserves no forgiveness.

After she had left, he had assumed that was the end for him. He would be left alone in his cell until the day he was executed for the greatest mistake of his life. Once again, he had been surprised, as only a few days later he was smuggled out of the prison and back to Skyhold. He was lead up to the Inquisitor's throne in chains, and prepared himself to be shown no mercy.

Instead, she had shown him more mercy than he'd ever felt possible. She had given him his freedom, and told him in front of every noble in the hall that she couldn't left him go. He'd felt like falling to his knees and weeping for joy, but he'd settled for kissing his lady. From that moment on, he'd vowed to be a man worthy of that mercy, and worthy of her love. He's even refrained from trying to bed her, not wanting to push his luck any further. He'll do anything she asks of him now, even if it means trekking across the desert all day and night.

Unfortunately, he suspects that she is less than pleased with his efforts. She's been ignoring him for most of the day so far, much to his distress. It had all started just after he and Varric had their debate about champion jousters. He had suggested that it's Honorine Chastain, but Varric had gone for Reeve Asa. After that, the Inquisitor hasn't said a single word to Blackwall, even when he's addressed her directly. He beginning to grow concerned. Has she finally realised that he is not a legendary Grey Warden, but an ordinary man who enjoys jousting? Has she finally realised that that she's too good for him? Has she finally realised that giving him his freedom was a mistake?

Now is not the time to dwell on that though, not with so many Venatori around. Tonight, when they set camp, he'll ask her what's wrong, and get to the bottom of why she's ignoring him.

For now, he's got some Venatori bastards to kill.

-t/s-

Night has finally fallen, and the Inquisitor has found them a place to camp. They had all eaten quickly, Lavellan sitting as far away from Blackwall as possible before rushing off to her tent straight after.

This hadn't gone unnoticed by the other camp mates. 'Well, someone's in the dog house!' Exclaimed Bull, his booming voice carrying across the entire camp. 'What did you do to earn the cold shoulder? Did you say something to piss the boss off?'

Blackwall shrugs. 'I wish I knew. I'm going to have a chat with her in a bit, see if I can fix this.' It's really beginning to bug him. She hasn't said a word since they killed those Venatori a few hours ago. Angry or not, it's not like her to be so quiet.

Varric barks a laugh. 'I'd go now if I were you. She'll only get more pissed if you leave her alone. Besides, she forgave you lying to her and pretending to be someone else; whatever you've done to earn her fury can't be that bad.' Blackwall knows that the dwarf has a point. Unless he's right, and she's beginning to regret forgiving him…

Blackwall sighs, before rising slowly. 'You're right, I should speak to her now. Wish me luck.' Bull and Varric both laugh.

'You'll need more than luck; you've seen the boss when she's angry.' Bull really isn't helping to ease Blackwall's nerves. If anything, he's made it ten times worse. He only hopes that his lady is in a forgiving mood…

He approaches her tent apprehensively. 'My lady, may I come in?' He listens out for a response. All he gets is a grunt, but he's willing to take that as an affirmation. He lets himself into her tent, closing it behind him.

He spots her in the middle of her tent, facing away from him. She really must be furious with him if she can't even look at him.

Blackwall's hands fidget absentmindedly, as he tries to think of what to say. Should he just ask her outright what's wrong, or should he use caution? Perhaps caution is the best approach; he doesn't want to anger her even further.

He clears his throat. 'My lady, are you alright? You've been quiet today. It worries me.' Maybe he shouldn't have said that last part; it makes his concern sound selfish. Still, it's too late to take it back.

Lavellan lets out a humourless laugh. 'I didn't have to talk. You and Varric seemed to have that covered.' What does Varric have to do with this? Blackwall is confused.

He tries to voice his confusion when he responds. 'It's true, we've spoken a lot today. He's one of the few people that doesn't resent me over what happened. But why should us talking give you cause to be silent? You're always more than welcome to join in on the conversation.' Then again, he's not sure she knows much about jousting; she was raised by the Dalish, after all. Do they even have jousting in the Dalish camps?

She scoffs. 'I'm sorry, I don't feel familiar enough with the 'technique' of other women to add to the conversation.' The technique of other women? What is she going on about?

Blackwall is growing more perplexed by the second. 'You've lost me, my lady.' Why is she acting so strangely? It doesn't seem to have anything to do with his lies, so that's something, at least. He just wishes he could read her mind…

Lavellan turns around suddenly, staring daggers at Blackwall. 'It feels like I have! Ever since that one kiss in front of my throne, you haven't touched me! And now you've started talking about a knight and her 'magnificent technique' right behind my back! I'm not stupid, Thom! I know damn well you weren't talking about her jousting prowess! Do you know how much that hurts me? To hear the man I love, the only man I have ever lain with, talk about another woman's breasts when he doesn't even wish to look at my own… it breaks my heart.' Tears are streaming from her eyes, and Blackwall feels his own heart break. It was so careless of him to speak about another woman like that, right in front of his lover. He's messed up, and he knows it.

Cautiously, he approaches her, cupping her face with his hands while trying to wipe away her tears. Her face is so small and delicate, and the skin is so soft. Her vallaslin make her look even more delicate somehow, as if she's a work of art created by the Maker himself. He'll never understand how such a woman fell for him, but he thanks his lucky stars that she did.

He smiles at her softly, and her anger seems to ease off a little. 'My lady, forgive me. I didn't mean for it to upset you. I should have considered you when I spoke. I guess I just assumed you'd know.'

Lavellan gives him a questioning look. 'Know what?'

Blackwall smiles knowingly. 'That you are the most beautiful woman in Thedas, and that no other even comes close, no matter how magnificent their technique is.' Her tears seem to have eased off, which is a relief. He only hopes he's said enough to calm her down completely.

Instead of the shy smile he was expecting to get in return, she removes his hands from her face. Blackwall feels as if someone has chucked a bucket of cold water over him. Maker's balls, he's really ruined it, hasn't he? One stupid and crass remark, and he's lost the love of his life. Maybe he should sacrifice the last of his dignity and beg for her forgiveness…

Lavellan stares down at her hands. 'I'm not beautiful. Not by any definition of the word. I have done some truly ugly things. I've killed so many people, more than I can ever save. I left Stroud to die, I almost let Celene die… and that's just on the inside! On the outside, I've got weird ears, funny-looking markings on my face, and a chest flatter than the war table. I don't fit in with anyone's physical ideal. Even when I'm all dressed up, I still feel so horribly left out, lost and insignificant in a sea of beautiful nobles. I'm not the most beautiful woman in Thedas; I'm not even the most beautiful woman in Skyhold.' Her tears seem to be returning, although they bring with them new understanding for Blackwall. He had no idea that she's so insecure. He should have realised sooner!

He gently tilts her face up so she's looking at him again. He speaks to her in little more than a whisper, his vice sounding even gruffer than usual. 'You are beautiful, my lady. More beautiful than anything or anyone else. Every bad thing you have done was for the good of others, and was done with the purest of intentions. Your ears aren't weird, they're normal for an elf, and I happen to like your 'funny-looking markings'. As for your breasts… Maker, I could write you a whole fucking thesis on why they are the finest thing in creation. Who gives a shit what the nobles think? You're out there day after day protecting them, while they just sit around on their arses bitching about things. You are far better than them, and a million times better than me. You are perfect, and I love the bones of you.' She seems to be crying even more now, though they no longer seem like tears of sadness.

When she answers him however, her voice still breaks. 'Then why won't you touch me?' Is that truly what is behind all this pain? The fact he hasn't tried to sleep with her again?

Blackwall lets out a frustrated huff. 'Maker's Balls, do you think I've not been touching you because I don't fancy you? I've been avoiding it because I don't want to push my luck. The fact that you gave me freedom when you could have done anything you wanted to me is miraculous enough, but you still wanting to be with me… it's nothing short of a divine blessing. I don't want to risk losing you over my own perverted thoughts and desires, so I've kept my hands to myself. It's not that I don't want to touch you my lady; I'm afraid that if I touch you too soon, you may never let me touch you again, and that would destroy me.' There's a glimmer of hope in her eyes, and Blackwall internally congratulates himself on not messing things up even further.

Lavellan reaches out to Blackwall, grabbing onto both his hands. She guides them to her breasts, and Blackwall gasps; they still feel impossibly soft, even through her robes.

Lavellan's voice is dripping with sin when she speaks. 'I have already forgiven you. That means you don't have to worry about losing me. It also means that you're free to let some of those perverted thoughts and desires out. In fact, why don't you let me show you my technique? I'm sure you'll approve, after what you've just told me.' Blackwall feels himself harden instantly. Is this really the same woman he'd deflowered all those nights ago? She speaks like a woman who has had countless sexual encounters. Then again, if she's willing, Blackwall will make her a woman that's had countless sexual encounters… all of them with him, of course.

Blackwall gives her breasts a firm squeeze. 'I like the sound of that, my lady. I should warn you though, I may require you to show me your technique more than once; it has been a while, after all.' Blackwall is beginning to kick himself. Why hadn't he tried anything sooner? He's missed out on so much sex with the woman he loves… that does it. If they're both still breathing when Corypheus is defeated, he's not letting her leave her bed chamber for a month.

Lavellan lets out a soft moan, and unhands Blackwall so that she can focus on undoing his armour. 'And who's fault is that?' For a woman that doesn't wear armour, she seems to have no problem removing Blackwall's. Under any other circumstances, he'd probably question her armour removing prowess, but his attention is solely on the still-clothed flesh beneath his hands. If only she had changed into her bed things; then he could have torn the fabric from her flesh. Alas, he knows he'll have to be careful with her robes. Maybe he can tear her clothes off next time…

Blackwall's armour falls from his person, exposing his chest to the chilly night air. He's glad that his lady doesn't mind him being hairy, or else he'd probably be freezing at this point. He'll have to keep his lover pressed close into him so she can share his warmth. Not that he minds, of course; the thought of their bare flesh intertwined is driving him half-mad with lust.

He reluctantly releases her breasts so her can pull her into his lap, pushing up her robes so that she can straddle him easier. He can feel the heat of her still-clothed core against his concealed erection, and he's willing to bet any money that she's completely soaked right now. Maker, it's been too long. He needs to be inside her again as soon as possible. Under normal circumstances, he'd undo his breeches, push her underwear to one side, and pound into her like his life depends on it. However, he knows he can't do that right now. He needs to prove to her just how beautiful she is, and how much he loves her body.

He unbuttons her robes a little, and pushes the sleeves of it down far enough to expose her fabric-clad breasts, and for the fabric to keep her arms pinned to her sides. Knowing that she does keep a spare breast band on her, he decides that it's safe to tear off that particular scrap of fabric, causing Lavellan to gasp in shock.

Blackwall practically growls at her. 'The damn thing was covering your perfect tits, it had to be destroyed.' Before Lavellan can respond, he latched his mouth onto one of her hardened nipples, teasing the bud with his tongue as she starts to let out a litany of delightful moans. He briefly considers asking her to be quiet for the sake of the others, but decided against it; better for them to tease him over making her scream than for them to think he can't make her scream at all. Oh, and she'll be screaming, alright. He's going to do whatever it takes to have her screaming his name like she used to.

Blackwall slides his hands under her robes, ripping her underwear just as he'd ripped her breast band. He strokes his thumbs against her newly bared flesh, and almost loses all control when he finds her even wetter than he'd imagined.

He switches nipples as he continues to tease her, and Lavellan begins to struggle against her robes, desperate to touch her lover. Never one to deny his lady, Blackwall reluctantly removes his mouth from her nipple so he can slide her robes over her head, using her temporary vulnerability to push her onto the ground, pinning her with his body.

Stretched out, naked and aroused beneath him, Lavellan is the embodiment of beauty. Her delicate frame feels so right underneath his broad one, and her soft skin feels magnificent underneath his battle-hardened hands. How can she not understand just how beautiful she is? His eyes roam over every inch of her, his carnal desires screaming at him, reminding him that she is all his. He is the one that gets to have her, gets to take her like this. There's no way he's going to be able to drag this out much longer; as much as he wants to reassure her, he is still just a man. A man who needs to feel his woman around his cock once again.

Thankfully, Lavellan seems to share his impatience, and she begins tugging at his breeches desperately, her body writhing underneath him uncontrollably. Right, no more waiting then. It's time for him prove to his lover just how much he wants her, and that he is still the same man that she gave herself to for the first time.

He takes over from her frantic tugging, removing his breeches with one practiced shove. Before lining himself up with her opening, he rubs himself against her soaked folds, groaning at how they feel against him. Lavellan becomes a gibberish wreck, trying to angle her hips up so that he'll finally enter her. It's only when she starts whimpering the word 'please' over and over again does he finally relent, shoving himself into her with one hard thrust.

Lavellan screams out, and Blackwall has to take a deep breath and still himself to stop himself for spilling into her right there and then. She's always so tight, so hot, so willing beneath him. All he wants to do is stay like this forever, his lady mewling and sighing beneath him.

Alas, Lavellan has needs that can't be satisfied by merely having someone inside her. She needs to be taken properly, by a man who knows exactly how to please her. Thankfully, Blackwall is one of those men, and he intends to remind her of that. He wraps her legs around his waist, grabbing at her hips hard enough to bruise. When he's certain he won't finish instantly, he begins moving, starting slowing at first but quickly working his way into a frenzy.

Lavellan begins moaning loud enough to wake the dead, her nails digging into Blackwall's arms as she allows him to plunder her, to satisfy her in ways she'd never thought possible. He feels so incredible inside of her, filling her up in a way that she's sure no other man could do. He's just so thick and so hard that he manages to drag himself against all of her sweet spots every time, and the way that his hands dig into her hips… he's all man all over, and she loves it when he reminds her just how powerful he can be.

Blackwall finds himself struggling to stave off orgasm, an unfortunate side effect of denying himself for so long. As his lover isn't showing any signs of completion, he decides to do something drastic.

He pulls himself out of her, earning himself a wail of protest. That protest is cut short when he flips her onto her hands and knees, and renters her from behind. He grips onto her ass this time as his pace becomes even more brutal, making Lavellan dig her nails into her bedroll.

When he's built up a pace he's satisfied with, he sneaks a hand around to toy with her clit, and begins speaking to her in a breathy growl.

'You are so fucking perfect. Every last inch of you. No other woman even comes close. I am the luckiest man alive, and everyone knows it. Anyone would kill for the chance to be where I am right now, to do what I'm doing to you. Well, I say let them try. I'll fight anyone who tries to take you from me. You're mine. My lady, my herald, my love. Who's are you?' Blackwall has lost all control over his mouth, his thoughts coming out without filter. He only hopes it doesn't put her off.

It seems to have the opposite effect, as she begins rocking back against him, forcing him to tighten his hold for fear of losing all control.

Her voice is strained when she cries out. 'Thom. I'm yours. All yours. Thom, Thom, THOM!' She tightens around him, her walls practically begging to be flooded with his seed. When he's certain she's reached the point of climax, Blackwall lets go, her cries of his true name the only thing that he hears. Every time he'd heard his name before now had bought him nothing but shame. But now, screamed by her in the throws of ecstasy, his name brings him nothing but joy.

Finally spent, he allows himself to collapse on top of her, using his arms to support most of his weight. He can't bring himself to slip his rapidly softening cock out of her just yet; he's enjoying the closeness too much.

When Lavellan finally regains her breath, she lets out a sigh. 'Well, remind me to ignore you more often if this is the result.'

Blackwall chuckles, and begins to apply gentle kisses on every inch of skin he can reach, mumbling into it as he goes. 'There's no need, my lady. I'll happily do this whenever you want. All you have to do is ask.'

Lavellan laughs. 'Aw, and there was me about to suggest that we do a bit of roleplay.'

Blackwall's ears perk up at that. 'Roleplay, my lady?'

Lavellan turns around, Blackwall slipping out of her with an obscene squelch. She threads her fingers through his chest hair, smiling wickedly at him. 'Yeah. I though that I could be a champion jouster, and you could be my rival, come to teach me a lesson after I beat you in the Grand Tourney.' Blackwall is certain that he's growing hard again already. He has no idea what has inspired his lover's newfound sexual confidence, but he isn't about to complain.

He kisses her deeply, their tongues mingling automatically, falling into a routine they've practiced countless times. When they break for air, Blackwall whispers directly into her ear. 'I like the sound of that, but how will it help your jealously over Honorine Chastain?'

Lavellen smirks. 'Why would I be jealous of her? I am the most beautiful woman in Thedas, after all.'

Blackwall spends the rest of the night proving just that.


End file.
